Table Of ContentA holiday gift for readers of
Harlequin American Romance
Novellas from three of your favorite authors
Return of the Light
MAGGIE SHAYNE
Star Light, Star Bright
ANNE STUART
One for Each Night
JUDITH ARNOLD
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Maggie Shayne lives on two hundred acres of lush meadows and woodland in
central New York. She has published more than thirty novels and numerous
novellas and articles, and has received many awards. Her longtime interest in the
Shamanic religions of pre-Christian times led her to a study of modern-day
nature religions. Several years ago she was initiated as a Wiccan priestess. She
has now achieved the rank of High Priestess, and is legally ordained as Wiccan
clergy, with all the privileges thereof, including the authority to perform
marriages.
Anne Stuart has written over sixty novels in her more than twenty-five years as
a writer. She has won many major awards, including three RITA® Awards from
Romance Writers of America, as well as their Lifetime Achievement Award.
When she’s not writing or traveling around the country speaking to writers’
groups, she can be found at home in northern Vermont with her husband and two
children.
Judith Arnold is the award-winning author of more than eighty novels. She
can’t remember a time she wasn’t making up stories. By age six, she was writing
them down and sharing them with her teachers and friends. Today, with more
than ten million copies of her books in print, she’s happily sharing her stories
with the world. A native New Yorker, she lives in Massachusetts with her
husband and two sons.
MAGGIE SHAYNE
ANNE STUART
AND
JUDITH ARNOLD
Burning Bright
CONTENTS
STAR LIGHT, STAR BRIGHT
Anne Stuart
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
RETURN OF THE LIGHT
Maggie Shayne
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
ONE FOR EACH NIGHT
Judith Arnold
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
STAR LIGHT, STAR BRIGHT
Anne Stuart
For BK and Mort—Romex rules!
Dear Reader,
Vermont was made for Christmas. Snow blankets the tiny villages and white-
spired churches, with only the evergreens and the bright blue of the sky breaking
the vast whiteness of it all. I’ve spent the past thirty-three Christmases in my
little village in Vermont (a town that bears a striking resemblance to Crescent
Cove) and the holidays just wouldn’t seem right any other place.
It was wonderful writing a story in collaboration with two of my favorite people,
Judith Arnold and Maggie Shayne. Judith and I are like the odd couple—she’s
the neatnik and I’m the slob—but we’re great friends anyway. And Maggie is a
force unto herself—a real treasure.
Getting the chance to share my Vermont Christmas with the rest of you was a
pleasure, and I hope the holidays, whichever ones you celebrate, are glorious.
Merry Christmas!
Anne Stuart
Chapter One
First Week of Advent
It was snowing again. Angela McKenna navigated the icy roads with her usual
panic, driving her old Jeep at a snail’s pace. At least it had all-wheel drive. But
even that wonderful invention wasn’t foolproof when it came to ice. This was
her second winter spent on the shores of Lake Champlain, and she would have
thought she’d have gotten used to the driving by now. After all, she could
navigate the heart of Chicago, the insanity of New York, the freeways of L.A.
without breaking a sweat. But let a few flakes of snow start drifting out of the
Vermont skies and she was swamped with a tightly controlled terror. It was a
good thing she didn’t have to go anywhere for work—she would have been
hopeless. Except, maybe that would have forced her to learn how to drive in the
snowy vicinity of Crescent Cove without courting a heart attack.
She usually avoided going out entirely when the weather was bad, but right
now she was driving home from Burlington Airport after spending Thanksgiving
with her parents in Chicago, and the sooner she got back the better. It was only
going to keep on snowing.
They’d put the holiday decorations up in the middle of town while she’d
been gone. Reindeer danced from every streetlight, and the big tree at the end of
the main street was ablaze with lights. Wreaths were on every one of the white
clapboard houses she passed. Just after four and already growing dark, the
sidewalks of Crescent Cove were empty.
She had to get home and off these snowy roads, she thought as she made her
way through town with single-minded concentration, past the stores and
restaurants, heading north, breathing deeply as she listened to the New Age
holiday music on her car’s CD player, when for some reason she hit the right
turn signal. She took the turn, half in a daze. In all the time she’d spent in
Crescent Cove she’d never gone down this particular narrow road, never even
noticed its existence, and why she’d do so in the middle of a raging blizzard
made no sense at all. Nevertheless, that was exactly what she had done.
Well, it wasn’t actually a raging blizzard—more a flurry or two. And maybe
she’d just been daydreaming—forgetting where she was, and taken the wrong
turn. It would be easy enough to stop and head back the way she’d come. She’d
never been gifted geographically, and if she kept going in a strange direction,
God knows where she’d end up. Her safest bet was to turn around.
The street was packed with the early snow, and she pulled into a driveway
